Survival

2. White Picket Fences

Shrill ringing shocked Stephanie awake. Her heart jackhammered into overdrive and she sat up far too quickly. Head rushing with blood, she threw a blind hand into the darkness beside the bed and grasped the hotel phone. She took a deep breath and pressed the receiver to her ear.

“Good morning Miss Armstrong, this is your wake up call for seven o’clock.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled and placed the phone back on its cradle.

 She ran her hands over her gritty eyes and face and waited for the adrenaline to leak out of her overwhelmed system. The shoulder that had gotten a pretty harsh beating yesterday throbbed as she pushed herself out of bed, half-awake.

She flicked on a light as she ambled over to the bathroom and caught sight of the mess in the mirror.

It was bruised pretty badly. Discolored blotches littered the side of it. What did you do? Stephanie shook her head, pressed on the skin and winced. So she’d have to wear a jacket over her shirt today. She grabbed a quick shower and changed into a pair of jeans and a white camisole. After brushing out her hair and tying it up into a ponytail, she packed everything back into her bag and headed out the door. As a second thought she pulled her leather jacket on over herself.

Leaving out the side door of the hotel, Stephanie stepped out into a warm, sunny day. In daylight, she could see so much more of the town, despite squinting against the intensity of the March sun.

It wasn’t difficult to find a place to eat. A little café sat on the corner of the street leading toward the High School. Giant paneled windows, bordered by flower boxes revealed a bustling building, complete with groups of teenagers and adults with children or friends alike.

Stephanie paused with her hand on the cool metal of the door handle, staring through the glass door at the small-town people. Animated chatter, smiles and laughter leaked out from the gap in the doorway. And, despite the spring warmth of the day, Stephanie felt a chill in her bones.

It was the same empty frigidity that had taken up residence in her body since she’d had to start doing things to survive that she’d never even imagined she’d have to do.

A hand closed over the bar she was holding, pulling it open. Startled, Stephanie looked up, red already spreading across her cheeks. Before she had a chance to blurt out an embarrassed apology or register what he looked like, he smiled.

“Go ahead,” he said.

And just like that, she ducked her head and hurried into the café. She should have said thank you or show some semblance of intelligence, but Stephanie knew that her words probably wouldn’t have behaved right, anyway. When eyes began to turn on her, almost imperceptibly at first and then growing more obvious, Stephanie just wanted to melt into the floor.

There had been a time, once, when she would have been able to stomach it. Maybe she’d have been able to walk straight up to someone and talk to them, hiding her nervousness beneath a façade of hard edges and confident smiles. There had been a time when she wouldn’t have had to, because there had always been someone with her that would have broken the ice.

On her own and without any support behind her, it was as if she’d lost something as vital as her spine. So instead of meeting anyone’s gaze, Stephanie was reduced to trying not to shrink under the weight of the stares and taking extreme interest in the ordering board.

It wasn’t as if she wanted to be so easily cowed, but it was unavoidable, as she was coming to understand, to operate under the radar in these increasingly smaller towns. All the attention was suffocating and unnerving. So, instead of lingering, Stephanie grabbed a muffin and hot chocolate, threw bills down on the counter and got out of there.